


Radicals

by epicenelyapophenic



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Conspiracy Theories, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Gen, Multi, Other, Torture, Work In Progress, everyone dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 14:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicenelyapophenic/pseuds/epicenelyapophenic
Summary: After figuring out that the White Masks are a false flag op, Maverick recruits some of the others to take on the man.





	Radicals

"...Rainbow Six is an international team of Tier 0 operators from all corners of the globe, originally founded under the auspices of NATO but since transferred to the UN. They are blacker than black and officially do not exist; if asked, they will state only that they are detached from their home units for international counter-terrorism operations. When in the field they wear the uniforms of local law enforcement and are virtually undifferentiable from them. The difference is in their experience, training, and tasking. They have been present at multiple incidents since their founding, most famously the Bartlett incident... “ from _Rainbow Six Revealed: The Creation, Training and Operation of the World’s Most Secretive Counter-Terrorism Unit_

Washington, DC, 06:33 EST

“I’ll be out there as soon as I can. The important thing is not to panic and get an accurate head count ASAP.”

Harry could hear gunfire over Ash’s voice. From the way she described it, they’re being attacked from two directions: someone bombed the local substation, darkening parts of the base, while another set of attackers were targeting Rainbow itself, which was engaged in a full-scale joint exercise with the Marines and USSSOCOM; everyone was there. Thermite and Castle were found dead, several others are in a firefight, and the only ones Ash knows for sure to be safe are Finka, Twitch, Rook, Doc and Kapkan, who have all holed up in a rec room with pistols. Ash thought it was part of the exercise until a bullet went past her head.

_Is it the Masks_, Harry wonders. Or something else. Or is it...?

29 Palms, California, 03:00 PST

Through her telescopic sight, 29 Palms looks just as you’d expect a military base to look at three in the morning: more or less dead, except for the bored guards and various maintenance personnel.  
It’s the latter she’s most interested in: they just put in a smart grid, and she’s gotten the MAC addresses of most of the meters, in addition to those of the controls for the on-base generators. She is looking at the latter right now. They are dead silent, but ready to go should the base’s power cut out.  
Smashing in a cryptic command and hitting return, she turns her attention to the generator building. 

“Minerva to Falcon. Spin cycle ready. I say again. Spin cycle ready.”  
“Falcon to Minerva. I copy. Sitrep on the classics homework?”

She turns her face to another laptop open to a bash shell. The green on black text progress bar is about halfway full.  
“Minerva to Falcon. My classics homework is half-done.”

A loud explosion sounds from the base below.

“Falcon to Minerva. Load the dryer. I say again, Load the Dryer.”

Grinning, she switches on what she explains as a “smart grid firmware fucker.” In an instant the base loses power. 

“Minerva to Falcon. Dryer loaded, if you couldn’t tell. Proceeding to Point Borax.”

She packs up her laptops quickly, mounts an ATV and sets off north-northeast. 

In the base, a woman with fluorescent skull facepaint, low-profile night vision gear and bogota picks in her right hand is making her way through her colleagues’ sleeping quarters. In her left hand is her knife. 

The first door she picks open is marked “de Souza.” She can hear the snoring through the thin door, which masks her picking. 

Inside the spartan barracks room are several duffel bags, a nightstand with a glass of water and pill bottles, a dresser with miscellaneous gear on top, and one sleeping colleague. 

Stepping like a cat, she looks over him, remembers.  
Years of humiliation, abuse, rape... of things this man should have protected her from. Of calling her scum, scoundrel, criminal, worthless.

“Palhaço.” leaves her mouth as she cuts open his throat. It’s too loud a take-down for this, but she doesn’t care. 

Licking the knife, she leaves the room, ready to take down another victim.

In another part of the barracks, a man dressed in anonymous black with a ski mask on also wields Bogotas in his right, but a bizarre-looking pistol in his left — it’s like a bike pump with an extra handle. 

He quickly picks open a room. Sleeping inside on the cot is a large white man, his various kit stashed around the room, iconic round welding goggles on the dresser.

“Sorry, Jordan,” says the black-clad man, as he puts two .32 ACP into Thermite’s head, sneaking back out. 

A black woman with a shaved head wearing jeans and a button up short sleeve sneaks around looking for places to start fires. Her Quechua comrade keeps a lookout. 

Several quick response teams have arrived at the barracks. The duty officers are dead, and several of the Rainbow operators are running around with their sidearms drawn. A Japanese woman seems to have taken charge of the situation, with an Israeli talking to someone on the phone. 

“Who’s in charge here?” asks a Marine sergeant in full battle rattle. 

“I am, but I’m busy right now. Hibana, you’re in charge of the situation until I get Six on the horn. I sent a text telling everyone else to stay where they are until further information comes in.”

In walks a Brazilian woman with her trademark sidearm.  
“What the fuck is going on here, Ash? Part of the exercise?”  
“Cav, thank goodness you’re here. Could you help these Marines sweep the area?”  
She suppresses a smile. “Of course Cohen. I’ll make sure we get the bastards.”  
“Focus more on keeping our friends secure than getting those responsible for this.”  
“Right.”

The Marine sergeant protests. “Wait a second. You’re a visiting unit here for training. Sit back and let us take care of things.”

Ash rolls her eyes. “If that’s how it’s going to be, fine. I just don’t think my colleagues are going to trust you without a friendly face, that’s all.”

“And who are you guys, anyway?”

“Do you not have a list of billets or something? We’re the International Counter-Terrorism Expert Group. At least, to you we are.”

The sergeant makes a face. “Okay, so you’re hot shit. High-speed, low-drag, trust no one type hot shit, and if we don’t take one of you along, you can’t guarantee our safety yadda yadda. We’ll take your friend with.”

Caveira again attempts to suppress a smile. “Let’s fucking go then.”


End file.
